


actual war on terror

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Depression, Disabled Character, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:40:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9331961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: elisaveta is a combat veteran helping her childhood friend recover from an accident; meanwhile, a growing threat of mafia activity plagues their city[UNFINISHED, OLD, AND WILL NOT BE FINISHED.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> hey i wrote this in 2014 but never shared it!! hope someone can enjoy it

The hospital room was dimly lit, with curtains over the only window and yellow light pouring down from ceiling. It smelled of sanitation; as if everything in the entire room had been scrubbed clean, save for the conscience of its sole inhabitant. Gilbert lay with his head propped up against the pillows, eyes focused on the muted light of the curtained window. He sniffed defeatedly at nothing in particular and attempted to readjust the position of his aching shoulders. The choking atmosphere of the hospital was enough to subdue his, even if not for the events of the past few weeks. He felt trapped - in the building, in life, and now even in his own body. And thus he had vowed to honor his role as a prisoner by denying himself the reckless pleasure he was used to. 

It wasn't as if anything that had happened had been his fault. He had gotten into a car with his younger brother, and they had been rammed into by a sliding semi truck. He hadn't caused the accident; he hadn't even been driving the vehicle. There was no way that he, Gilbert, who lived in a single bedroom apartment and worked at a supermarket, stocking shelves, could have either predicted or prevented a six-car pileup caused by black ice and poor visibility. Yet he took full responsibility for the accident.

The doctors and the therapists and anyone else who was unfortunate enough to be caught talking to him these days would have told you it was irrational. They might have said that he was grieving and he was trying to compensate for his brother's death by taking on the blame. After all, he had survived and Ludwig had died. It wasn't fair. Gilbert was the elder sibling. He wasn't supposed to survive his baby brother. He was supposed to be dead and rotting long before Ludwig ever considered the fact that he would, one day, die.

No one could tell him that it wasn't his fault. No one could tell him that he had suffered enough, because not only had he just lost his only brother, but he was also paralyzed and completely alone in the world. All that mattered in his disillusioned version of reality was that his brother was dead and it was his fault.

More than once, he had considered his fate. He couldn't walk. As far as he was concerned, he couldn't survive on his own. He had no family who could ever hope to support him - hell, he had no family that wanted anything to do with him. Not once since the accident had someone visited him - not even a friend of Ludwig's to offer him their condolences. No, he was alone. No one was coming to save him this time.

He had spent so much time thinking that he had convinced himself that no one had ever cared at all. Not even his brother, who he would give the world for, had ever loved him. His own parents hadn't shown much compassion towards either of the boys, and their grandfather, who had ended up raising them most of the time, had only taken them on because he had to. There was no intimacy between the family members - he had never even known closeness and love. He was destined to be alone and miserable forever.

He kept thinking back to his years of acting in like the cool kid. There had been no real reason for it. It was just a stupid and failed coping mechanism, because everyone knew he went home and shut himself in his room and beat himself up about what a loser he was. No one had been fooled by his egotistical façade, and, if they had, they probably just thought he was a narcissistic asshole. Even his 'friends' probably went behind his back and talked about what a complete and utter tool to society he was. Gilbert was the stereotypical fluke of a high school sports star. And now he was going to die alone.

Days seemed to blur together in his demented world, filled with morose conversation from the halls and failed attempts at rehabilitation. They would try to make him do everyday tasks like moving through the halls in his wheelchair, but he would refuse to comply. He didn't break down, but, when he got back to his room and they left him alone, he sobbed into his pillow until he fell asleep. 

They gave him food but he didn't want to eat. He became very thin from eating hardly anything. His eyes grew dull and lifeless, looking colorless and strange against his pale skin. Anything he had done to make himself look normal faded into his depression as he grew further and further away from anything he had ever been. He shied away from light, and from people. For maybe the first time in his life, he began to realize just how different he was. He was so pale; so sensitive; so adverse. For this, too, he cried, and he cried because he was /crying / and he was /weak/. They called in therapists to talk to him, but he pushed them away. Honestly, he wondered what they expected. He didn't want to hear their fake "I know how you feel" nonsense. What he wanted was someone to actually care about him.

When someone finally came, he was unprepared. He looked tired and helpless, with his hair unwashed and his eyes stinging from tears. He heard the door creak open and looked up to see a woman, dressed promptly in a green military uniform. She gave the nurse a crooked smile and a nod before turning mechanically to Gilbert. Her soft face moved in a look of muted sorrow as she offered that same lopsided smile that didn't reach her eyes.

She glanced over his still lower body and pained face, parting her lips slightly. She unzipped her thick army-issued jacket and dropped it on the floor, revealing a tan t-shirt. 

Gilbert dropped his gaze, not wanting to be caught staring at her chest.

She snorted. "What the hell, Gil?" Her brows furrowed in concern as she reached out to touch his greasy hair. He cringed. 

"Please don't touch me.."

She drew back, arm moving back to her side. "Are you okay?" 

He hesitated before shaking his head. She ignored his reaction and went on.

"I just got back. I'm finally done with my, you know, military service." She paused for a moment then sighed. "But I don't suppose you care."

He shook his head. "No, of course I care. That's.. great." He smiled, but she didn't believe his terribly out of character gesture.

"Listen, Gil, I'm really sorry that I didn't call or something. Roderich picked me up at the airport and I didn't know until then," she tried to explain, even though she didn't expect him to listen. He sighed.

"You wouldn't think he knew."

She frowned, pulling a chair from the wall and sitting down. "What do you mean?"

Gilbert shrugged. "It doesn't matter.. Anyway, it's great to have you back, Liz." He smiled more sincerely and sighed.

A flash of darkness crossed her face as he spoke, but she shook lit away. "Yeah." Liz glanced around. "So, when can you get out of here?"

He glanced up at her. "I don't know. My apartment isn't very accessible, and I think they worry I'm not stable.."

She stared him straight in the eyes and frowned. "Sorry, but you don't seem very stable, Gil."

They looked at each other for a moment, his pale red eyes meeting her troubled, dark gaze. Elisabeta broke the silence by putting her hand on his.

"Take me seriously," she began, and he wouldn't have, but he was haunted by a lifetime of never being able to. "I know what you're feeling is probably more than I could ever know, but I'm here and you can talk to me. God knows, I've got my own problems, but who would ever listen to them?"

He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "You don't get it."

She stood up, glaring at him. "Gilbert! I watched men I loved like /brothers/ bleed out and die in my arms! I came home to an ex boyfriend who thinks I should have stayed in the kitchen 'if I couldn't handle it'. My friends don't get why I left in the first place. And my closest childhood friends.. One's dead and the other is so self-obsessed that he won't talk to the only person who /wants/ to talk to him!"

They stared at each other again, but this time neither broke off.

"What do you want?" Gilbert asked finally.

Liz shrugged. "I want us to act normal again."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Honestly? I've been overseas for the better part of four years, and you've been here moping 'cause your brother's dead. I don't think we act anything like we used to." She frowned and picked her coat up off of the ground.

He stared up at the ceiling. "I don't we /are/ anything like we used to be." 

"You seriously need to get out of here. It's messing with your mind," she said, smiling genuinely for the first time in days, even before coming to the hospital.

"I guess I will eventually."

Liz glanced up at the clock and groaned. She roughly pulled her jacket back on and sighed. "Alright, time to get yelled at by my parents."

"You came here before going to see them?" 

She snorted. "Duh."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Well, cool."

Without another word, Liz left and he was left alone again.

Elisabeta had grown up in the same neighborhood as Gilbert and Ludwig. She hadn't been a terribly popular kid, but, as she got older, she joined an outcast group and became a typical high school tomboy. As a young child, her parents divorced and she was sent to live with her dad. After that, everything she did was some hopeless attempt to impress him and all the other boys. She cut her hair short, played all the "boy's" sports, and spent her days trying to force her company upon Gilbert and his friends.

When she was twelve, a boy named Roderich moved into the house next to her. Initially, she teased him for his incredibly formal manners and snobbish nature, but, with the Beilschmidt brothers growing away and her own social group diminishing, they became close friends. By the time they were sixteen, the two of them were deeply entwined in a kind of sappy, ridiculous love. But, as teen love often goes, she began to grow tired of his rude and clingy behavior. He threatened her with all sorts of things, from hitting her to leaving her alone. Most of the torture was psychological: he would tell her that no one else would love her, or that she was such a terribly stupid and useless girl. A few times, he got really angry and he did hit her. He wasn't nearly as strong as someone his age should have been, but, with his focused rage, he had bruised her face and even given her a black eye, once.

And yet she stayed with him.

She could tell how poisonous the relationship was. She knew that one day she would break. But not once during their relationship did she cry. She was a strong young lady.

That said, seeing Gilbert, whom she had admired as an idol her entire childhood; whose emotional strength she had always envied, have such a breakdown really disturbed her. It shook the foundations of her belief that men should be strong - and that she should be like a man.

She had broken up with Roderich after nearly five years, and, wanting to run from her old life, joined the military. That man had ranted and raved about how stupid she was, and how she wouldn't be able to handle it, but she ignored him. Once she was away from him, she found herself feeling free and unburdened, even with the strict protocol and weighing fear of failure. Roderich was just a part of her past.

But, now, she was scared - not for herself, but for Gilbert. There had been a time when, despite their rivalry and despite his flaws, she would have considered him her best friend. He was only about a year older than her, but she had looked up to him. All she could feel now was something between disappointment and concern. 

Through dinner with her father and her mother, who had flown in to see her, she kept thinking back to how fragile he seemed. /He can't walk,/ she kept thinking, but, as much as it frightened her that something like that could happen to someone she knew, it was more troubling when she realized that Ludwig was dead. He had /died./ He was dead and he couldn't ever come back. And Gilbert, who had been strong and athletic and arrogant, was crippled and drowning in depression and self hatred. The permanence of the entire situation frightened her. It made her want to reach out to Gilbert and comfort him, and make him comfort her for all that she had been through.

"Hey, it's Liz," she said awkwardly, wondering if she should have even called at all. It was going to be strange; they had hardly talked since she had broken up with Roderich. Gilbert didn't seem to mind, though.

She could hear muffled coughing through the speaker. "Oh.. Sorry for earlier. I've been pretty upset lately. Anyway, why'd you call?" he said, clearly struggling to catch his breath. She bit her lip and sat down on the cement stairs of the walkway. 

"I just wanted to talk.. ask what you're planning to do," she replied, making tortured faces because she knew no one was looking. 

There was a pause. "I don't know, Liz. I can't really do /anything/ now, can I?" There was a tired pain in his voice, but he managed to keep the level steady. Elizabeta frowned at his pessimistic words.

"Of course you can. Don't think like that," she insisted.

His voice lowered so she could barely hear it over the crackling of the line. "Liz, you don't know what this is like. My brother is dead, and I really loved him. And now I can't even walk. Never, Liz; not ever again. I'd be.. so much better off dead." His voice cracked and should could hear him sniffling. 

"Gilbert, please.." she begged, her own eyes beginning to water. "You are so much more than your brother or your body."

He huffed into the speaker. "Stop saying that. Stop it with the lies."

"I'm not lying! I never lie!" she cried. "I.. I l- love you! I think you're amazing and.. awesome, or whatever. No, you matter to me!" The line was silent.

After a moment, she spoke again. "Gilbert?"

".. Really?"

She brushed her hair behind her ear to save it from the wetness of her tears. "Really, really.. Pleased, Gil. Come with me. We can rent a house. I can find you a job. I don't care if you don't want to be together or anything.. We can just be roommates."

Another pause.

"You're all I have left."

He sniffed again. "Okay.. Okay, yeah.. We should do that." She couldn't tell if he actually liked the idea or if he was just agreeing with her for the same of it.

They sat silent for a moment before he said something again.

"Hey, Liz.. I'm sorry for making you cry. I have to go now. Come over tomorrow."

She squeaked out a forced "Okay," before he hung up. As soon as the call was over, she threw the phone in the grass and put her head in her hands. Tears streamed down her face like raindrops, and she pretended they were. She hadn't cried for years, but she was glad that, when she did, it had been for someone else.

As soon as she had a chance, Elizabeta borrowed her step-mother's car and headed for the hospital. It was a pleasant route through bustling city streets and sunny, tree-lined avenues, but she was on edge. It made her almost uncomfortable to think that these people were so oblivious to the mindless destruction that filled the scene of much of the Middle East. With every smiling, clean child she saw on these sidewalks, she remembered a small and mud-covered orphan, carrying a battered toy down the broken road. She would have liked to shoot those poor children out of mercy, but her fleeting hope that they would be saved kept her from harming them.

As she neared the sprawling parking lot, Liz let out a long sigh and glanced at the newspaper beside her. She had opened it to a page with listings for rentals in the area. There were several houses that she had been looking at, but she wasn't prepared to make any decisions without Gilbert's consent.

She pulled into a parking space and gently pressed down the brake pedal. Breathing out deeply, she stared down at herself. She had changed out of her uniform in favor of jeans and a black jacket but had kept her boots. She didn't have many other pairs of shoes - not any she liked, anyway. It felt strange to be wearing civilian clothes, in a civilian setting; to /be/ a civilian. She missed her gun and helmet and all of the clothes protecting her. It had made her feel less vulnerable.

Picking up the newspaper, she opened the car door and stepped onto the paved lot. It was mostly empty, but she wasn't surprised. It was nearly noon on a Tuesday - most people were working. Soon enough, she would be joining the millions of bored workers, wasting her life away.

But she tried not to think about that now. After all, she was about to see Gilbert. They were going to work something out so they would both be - more or less - happy. And she lingered next to the car door for no less than a minute, thinking this through. Finally, she found her strength and walked towards the clear glass doors. 

——————

This time, when she arrived, Gilbert was acting almost normal. He lay in bed, staring intently at book. She couldn't see the cover, but she suspected he was reading it out of sheer boredom because, the second she entered the room, he snapped it closed without any marker. 

"Good morning," she said in what she hoped was a pleasant tone. He rolled his eyes.

"It's not even morning. I've been up for like six hours already," he replied, a bit too harshly. Shaking his head, he looked up at her and forced a smile. "Hi, though."

She shrugged and walked over to the bed. "I found a bunch of listings for houses around here."

Gilbert raised a pale brow. "Are they any good?"

Liz pulled the newspaper from her purse and handed it to him. He squinted at the words in the housing advertisements and nodded.

"Have you checked 'em out yet?"

She blinked in surprise. "Oh, gosh, I should have."

He smirked, shaking his head in mock disdain. "I'll go with you, if you like. I really need to get out of here for a while."

She tensed up a bit, unsure if she could handle it. "But I don't.."

"I can handle myself, Liz. Besides, you're gonna have to get used to it if you don't plan on going back on your offer and leaving me to rot," he interrupted. She could only nod uncertainly and get up to consult a nurse - or whoever was supposed to be in charge.

\--------------

Once she was sure they were allowed to leave, Elizabeta spent several minutes struggling to unfold Gilbert's wheelchair. It was latched in what must have been twenty different places, and, even with Gilbert shouting commands from the bed, it took her a ridiculously long time to undo it. He was able to get himself out of the bed and maneuver around, but she still groaned quietly at the entire situation. He turned to him and sighed.

"Are you already convinced this won't work? Geez, that didn't take long." He cast a long, sad glance out the partially opened window.

She shook her head. "You know that's not it. I'm not going to.. give up on you. Ever."

He narrowed his eyes a bit in doubt, but shrugged of the nagging uncertainty in his mind. He didn't believe her. He was sure that, as soon as it became difficult, she would wish she had never agreed to help him. People were just.. like that. And though he didn't question her honor or dedication, this wasn't her duty. She had no reason to feel obligated to help him.

Grasping the wheel of the chair with one hand, he gestured towards the door. She sighed and walked behind him as he pushed himself along. The were on the bottom story, so all he had to do was confirm with the receptionist that he was leaving and then head out. Liz sped up and led him to the car. She was sure that, if they were planning on living together, they would have to buy a larger vehicle - one that could fit the entire wheelchair. For now, she simply unlocked the door and stared at him blankly, unsure of how to proceed. 

He almost laughed at her confusion. "Okay, come.. help me into the seat or something.."

She walked around the car and open the door. It was high enough up that she didn't feel she was in danger of hurting him, even though she might have liked to. She sighed and awkwardly put her arm around him. With her support, he used his arms to pull himself into the seat. She was surprised at how light and thin he felt; under the baggy clothes he wore, she could feel his bones, and he was much too easy to lift. She was just slightly smaller than him, after all, but she remembered him as someone who was athletic and muscular, not weak and unhealthily thin. She frowned and caught his eye.

"I once again find myself wondering what 'okay' means to you," she mumbled. He didn't answer.

She folded the wheelchair and put it in the back seat. Once she was in the car and preparing to put in the keys, he turned to her.

"I'm sure you want the truth, so I'll be honest. I really don't eat much, and I don't sleep much, and I don't know if this is going to be a problem for you, but things are really hard for me right now and I need time to work all this out."

She stared at him with a bewildered look on her face, as if she couldn't truly comprehend his lack of sarcasm. With nothing to say, she took his hand and held it tightly in hers. 

"I know. " 

And that was all they said for a long time.

\-------------

Liz called some of the numbers on the advertisements. One man answered and said he wasn't working today, so he could show them the house. They met him a few minutes later and Liz was forced to, once again, lift Gilbert. It made her do uncomfortable, and yet she almost enjoyed touching him. The owner regarded them with a raised brow but no comment. He greeted them with a smile and shook hands with Gilbert. They all glanced at the house for a moment.

"My wife and I bought this house when we first got married. It's small, but I think you two will like it," he explained, his eyes glazing over in apparent fond recollection. He led them over a smooth cement path and into the house. The yard was ragged and overgrown, but it looked as if it had once been beautiful. The house was painted a faded brown with darker roofing, and the door was dark red. It looked nice but slightly outdated, at least to Gilbert. 

The bottom of the door frame was raised slightly, but the owner nodded in acknowledgement and looked it over. "If you need to accommodate, we can help you."

Elisabeta smiled and lifted the chair over the bump. The came into an open small room with a living area to the left and a doorway to the kitchen in the other. Straight ahead was a hallway. The man led them first down the hallway, which had a single bedroom and bathroom, and then into the living room. There was a doorway in one of the walls, and he led them through and explained that it was the other bedroom. The kitchen was small but functional, and all the appliances were fairly new. Overall, they both seemed to like the house. 

"Can you wait for us to look at some other units?" Elizabeta asked, but the landlord shook his head. 

"I've got two or three other people who are interested. If I don't know now, it'll get taken by someone else."

Gilbert glanced up at her and shrugged. "It's nice, Liz. We could handle this."

She nodded. "Alright. We'll take it. I'll give you my number so we can talk about it."

Gilbert watched them with something between a glare and a look of interest. His eyes flickered between their faces, but he said nothing.

Toris offered to help carry in the furniture; Liz obliged. Gilbert sat to the side and stared at his feet as they worked, feeling wholly useless in the shadow of his able-bodied counterparts. 

"Don't do that again."

The day wore on as they shuffled around the house, organizing miscellaneous items and preparing the rooms. Liz remained on edge, jumping at every noise. She spent most of the day scrubbing down the counters in the kitchen. They were a polished but dented fake wood surface. The edges were worn down from age and the cracks were full of dirt and grime, but she managed to make them at least look decent and somewhat sanitary. By the time she was done, it was growing dark and the sky was greyer than ever. She sighed and watched the rain drizzle down the window.

A loud buzzing jolted her from her methodical trance. Her phone, which she has set on the counter, vibrated against the hard surface with a painful tapping. She picked it up and flipped it open with some hesitance, wondering who would be calling her at this time.

A soft, feminine giggling sounded through the speaker, however muffled by distant conversation in the background. A man said something, but she couldn't quite catch it. 

"Hello?" she said slowly. The lady on the other end of the line made a sharp noise hushing and the sound around her faded. 

"Hey, is this Elisabeta?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

She could hear a brief snort. "Belle, of course. Liz! We heard you were finally home, and we were wondering if you'd like to go out with us."

Liz hesitated, tapping her fingertips on the counter. "Uh.. Sure, I'd love to, but I'm here with Gilbert right now and I think we were planning to stay home tonight."

There was a pause. "Gilbert? A new boyfriend or something?"

Liz blew from her nose and leaned over the counter. "No, uh.. No, we went to high school with him. He's my roommate."

"Oh, yeah, of course. Just invite him, too."

She was about to say something when Belle interrupted.

"We're at that bar on Main Street that we used to go to. See you later."

The line went dead and Liz used all of her strength to restrain herself from slamming the phone against the counter. Belle had been her closest friend throughout most of high school, but, after that, she had gotten involved with the wrong people and ended up in a string of horrible relationships. She really was a sweet girl - or she had been - but Liz was shocked and a bit angry that she hadn't even remembered who Gilbert was. After all, she had dated his best friend, Francis, for nearly two years, and they had all hung out together many times. She swallowed painfully in realization that it was his voice she had heard on the other line.

She was mostly angry that the girl had been so quick to assume she even wanted to go out. They were the kind of people that would talk about her behind her back if she didn't go, so she felt obligated, but that didn't mean she was at all prepared. The anxiety of going to a store was almost too much too bear, and she wasn't sure if she could handle being surrounded by so many people.


End file.
